


Speak Softly, Love

by liamneeson



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: College AU, M/M, past klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 10:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16262324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamneeson/pseuds/liamneeson
Summary: He’d missed having Lance’s arms around him, missed inhaling the heady scent of him, missed how when they were alone, the world stopped and narrowed down to the milliseconds between them.





	Speak Softly, Love

**Author's Note:**

> *taps mic* i just want to say that this is not an anti-keith fic so don't even fight me
> 
> I fucking hate that i started typing this using kinkade’s first name and every so often when i stop writing and take a lil break and then come back to what ive written i’m all like who the fuck is ryan

Drenched in sweat and out of breath, Ryan found himself at Lance's doorstep, panting hard as he mustered up the courage to knock.

Maybe he'd ran as some messed up metaphor, like running from his problems, quite literally and figuratively. He’d ran so fast and so hard that his lungs felt like they’d been steamrolled, and at this point, it had amalgamated with the ache under his ribs and, God, if this was what the agony of love felt like, he wanted nothing more to do with it.

His hand closed over the faded brass of the doorknob and turned it. He wondered why, after all this time, he was still surprised that Lance never locked his door.  _ Stupid, stupid. What if someone broke in? _ Maybe there was something to be said about a man who waited for mishap to strike before he put walls up, but Ryan was never very eloquent to begin with, so he let the sentiment simmer in his gut, ignoring its bad aftertaste on his tongue. 

The apartment was small, but not bare. Decor that ran the gamut from joyful to tacky was littered cheerfully around the space. Space knicknacks and thrift store finds erased the smallest partition that the studio could have had, and yet, it wasn’t hard to find Lance amidst the mess. The comic he’d been reading in bed was abandoned facedown on his pillow as he directed his attention towards the door.

“Ryan,” he called out, his voice unsure, his face even more so. “I’ve been calling you all morning. And all of last night. Where have you been?”

_ Running, both literally and figuratively, _ his mind echoed _.  _ “I’m sweaty. Can I use your shower?”

Emotion was always so quick to bloom over Lance’s face. Everything about him was so damn forthcoming, and yet, the dregs of doubt stayed with Ryan, a devil on his shoulder. 

“Go ahead,” Lance said. Ryan nodded at him, before making his way into the bathroom.

\--

The water rinsed the suds off Ryan’s hair, his body, and soon enough, he was just standing under the shower head’s gush in contemplative silence, a bad cliche. His thoughts were coming at hundred miles a second, and yet, there was a sense of numbness awash over him, like he was feeling to much, yet, not at all. What a horrible feeling. There was an empty put in his gut where his heart was doing a freefall.

When Lance opened the door of the bathroom and welcomed himself to joining Ryan in the tight shower area, he was already unclothed, his expression repentant, and it made the dread just a bit heavier.

“Won’t you look at me,  _ mi vida? _ You’ve been ignoring me for days, and I miss the sound of your voice.” Lance’s hand slithered around Ryan’s chest until he was being hugged from behind. Ryan sighed when Lance pressed his cheek against his shoulder. “Please tell me you trust me.”

He’d missed having Lance’s arms around him, missed inhaling the heady scent of him, missed how when they were alone, the world stopped and narrowed down to the milliseconds between them. But it was all coming back to Ryan, how he was leaving the library two nights ago and he saw Lance in Keith’s arms in the parking lot. There had always been a nagging feeling in the back of Ryan’s mind, that Lance still had feelings for his ex, and he’d pursued a relationship with Lance anyway, despite how his shortcomings (the way he bottled things up, the way he wanted to say  _ I love you _ but let the sentiment hang in the air instead) added to his insecurities.

“I love you,” Ryan answered instead.

“That’s not the same as trusting me.”

“I saw what I saw.” Ryan moved to shove Lance’s arms off, but Lance held on tighter.

“Keith is just my friend now. We’ve been through a lot together, that’s all. That night, I was giving him back some stuff I found in storage. We talked for a while, then I gave him a hug goodbye before I went home. There’s only you.” Lance pressed his lips against the hot, wet skin of Ryan’s shoulder. “I don’t want him the way I want you.”

"It's hard for me," Ryan admitted, and to him, it sounded like choking on the pride he learned to use like armor. He let the rest go unsaid:  _ Try harder to prove to me I'm the only one. _

"Do you want me to not see my friend anymore?" In Lance's voice was a sad note, and it made something pitiful stir in Ryan. "I can do it, if that's what it takes."

"No, Lance, I'm not here to tell you who you can or cannot hang out with anymore. But when you're still hugging your ex, it doesn't make me feel fantastic."

"No more hugging Keith." Lance said quickly. 

"Yeah."

Lance contorted so he could look up into Ryan's face. The way Lance peered at him was wary. "Are we okay?"

"Yes. I love you."

"And I, you. I want you to trust me."

_ I want to _ . "I will."

Lance looked like he felt it wasn't good enough. "Okay. I can deal with that. Thank you."

Ryan turned, so he could press his lips against Lance's temple. "Let's go get dressed."


End file.
